


Okay By Us

by sev313



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 12:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sev313/pseuds/sev313
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Duncs and Seabs realize that Johnny's in love with Kaner, they put a plan in motion to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Okay By Us

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first Hockey RPF fic, written in 2010. Finally uploading it to AO3.

“Taaa-zer.” Patrick Kane slides into the booth, his arm thrown carelessly around Jonathan’s shoulders and his thigh pressing hot and hard along Johnny’s. Patrick reaches for Tazer’s beer and holds it up, as if questioning, and Johnny rolls his eyes, but nods indulgently. Patrick takes a long swig, before he suddenly drops the bottle to the table and locks eyes with Johnny, tightening his arm and pulling him closer until their foreheads are touching. “You’re the best.”

Johnny laughs and manages not to wrinkle his noise at Patrick’s breath. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe,” Patrick agrees, nodding his head seriously. “But you’re still the best.”

Johnny should pull away, he knows he should, because they’re in a bar and they’re surrounded by their teammates, but Patrick’s thigh is burning his and he has to curl his hand not to touch his best friend’s knee. Patrick leans closer, so that his lips are brushing against Johnny’s ear and Johnny doesn’t think that he manages to suppress his moan entirely.

“You believe me, don’t know?” Patrick is insistent, his eyes wide as if Johnny might disagree with him.

“Yes,” Johnny whispers, and cringes at how breathy he sounds. He really, really should pull away.

Thankfully, the choice is taken from him, as Patrick squeezes his shoulder, “Good,” and pulls back, sweeping his hands in a grand gesture and Johnny moves quickly to save Sharpy’s beer from spilling across both their laps.

“Thanks.” Sharpy gives him a wink.

“Guys, guys, I have something to say.” Patrick is so earnest that everyone turns to him and his grin widens at the attention. “Tazer’s the best.”

Johnny drops his head into his hands. He feels Patrick shift away and he looks up to watch him saunter back to the bar and throw his arms around two blondes. Johnny feels his shoulders slump and he knows that he’s blushing, but his thigh is cold and he can’t help his moment of self-pity.

He feels a pair of eyes on him and he looks up to see Duncan Keith watching him, a strange, unreadable look on his face, and Johnny forces a smile, shaking off his melancholy. “Anyone want anything?” He motions to the bar.

Duncs is still looking at him, his head tilted to the side as he stretches. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Yeah, me too,” Seabs pipes up from beside him. “You want a ride, Tazer?”

Johnny’s temped to take him up on it, but he hears a crash from the bar and he looks over to see Kaner looking confusedly at his own hand, and he smiles. “Nah, I need to make sure that he gets home alright.”

Brent and Duncan slip out and Brent rests a hand on his shoulder. “Call if you need help.”

Johnny shakes his head. “We’ll be good. See you tomorrow.”

They wave and head out together. Duncs opens the door, letting Brent slip out ahead of him as he glances back to the bar, where Kaner’s wrapped himself around a resigned Johnny. Sharpy and Burs come up to help Tazer and Duncan lets the door close behind him.

Brent is waiting for him, shuffling his feet on the sidewalk and, when Duncan joins him, he takes a step close enough to bump shoulders. “You okay?”

“Huh?”

“You look funny.” Duncan gives him a look and Brent rolls his eyes. “You were giving Tazer weird looks.”

Duncs looks down at his feet. “S’it’s nothin’.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Brent’s question is light, but when Duncs glances guiltily around them, he gets curious. “You know something.”

Duncan ignores him in favor of bumping shoulders again, this time dropping his hand so that his thumb brushes against the back of Brent’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

“Tazer will wonder. He’s staying with me all weekend, remember?” Brent’s eyes are dark and he looks so torn that Duncan leans forward to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He pulls back, smirking at the blush on Brent’s cheeks. “Besides, Tazer’s going to have his hands full for a while. Trust me.”

Brent throws up his hands in defeat and follows Duncan faithfully to the car. “Why do I ever bother to fight you?”

Duncan shrugs. “Beats me.”  
***  
One of their cell phones beeps and Brent reaches across Duncan, fishing his phone off the bedside table. Duncan turns, running his hand along Brent’s side as Brent opens his phone and smirks. Duncs’ hand stills. “What?”

“’At Kaner’s. Be home l8tr.’”

“Tazer?”

Brent nods. “Getting texting lessons from Kaner.”

“Hmm.”

Brent sits up suddenly, leaning against the headboard and forcing Duncan to drop his hand. “You _do_ know something,” he accuses.

Duncan sighs, pulling himself up to sit next to Brent, their shoulders touching. “Sort of.”

‘Sort of?’ What does that mean? It’s about Tazer, isn’t it?”

Duncan keeps his eyes on his hands, twisting in his lap. “He’s never said . . . I’d never bring it up . . .” Duncan sighs. “It’s just – the _looks_ he gives him, you know? It reminds me of the way I used to watch you, you know, before.”

“Before I admitted this?” Brent shakes his head before leaning in and kissing Duncs gently.

When he pulls away, Duncan is smiling at him softly. “You were a dumbass.”

Brent glares as he shifts to take Duncan’s fidgeting hands in his, deciding to let the comment pass for the moment. “So, Tazer and Kaner, huh?” Duncan just stares at him and Brent begins to feel affronted. “Come on, Duncs. How unobservant do you think I am?”

Duncan shifts uncomfortably and Brent raises his eyebrows. “Well,” Duncan grumbles, “it did take you _years_ to figure out what I wanted.”

“You were subtle.”

“Not _that_ subtle.”

Brent shrugs. “More subtle than Tazer is.”

Duncan grunts, having no response to that. He’s often wondered how he’s the _only_ one on the team to see and understand Tazer’s soulful looks. Why else would he follow Kaner around with those puppy dog eyes, throwing himself into playing wingman to Kaner’s barhops with more enthusiasm than anyone should in watching Kaner fail to hit up blondes on a daily basis?

“We have to do something!”

Brent sounds excited, and Duncan groans, pulling his hands away and dropping his head into them. “ _This_ is why I haven’t told you.”

“Oh, come on,” Brent wheedles, poking Duncan in the side. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of something.”

Duncan glares at his lover. “I-How did you-?”

He smirks. “I know you. Too well, probably. Now, come on, tell me.”

“Alright, alright.” Duncan sighs, leveling Brent with his most serious look. “But, you can’t tell anyone.” Brent looks away and Duncan reaches out to catch his chin and pull his eyes up. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Duncan doesn’t let go of him. “Okay, okay, sheesh, I promise. Not even Sharpy, I swear.”

Duncan groans and drops his hand. “Especially not Sharpy.” He swallows. “Besides, you may not even agree to this-“

“Will you just tell me?”

“I think we should let Johnny know about us.”

“What?” Brent sits up straighter, throwing them off balance and when they settle again, there’s a few inches of space between them.

“Just forget it.”

“I can’t just – Duncs, why?”

“Drop it.”

“No.”

“I can’t have this fight again.” Duncan looks away, fiddling with the quilt cover as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

Brent sighs. “I don’t want to fight, either. It’s just – we _both_ agreed to keep this a secret.”

“I know.”

“Are you changing your mind?”

“No, yes, I –“ He sighs, turning to look at Brent again, a little comforted at the open look of confusion on Brent’s face. “I don’t know. I just think that, if Johnny was to know about us, he might see that it’s _okay_.”

“Where you ever going to tell me about this plan?”

“I hadn’t decided.” Duncan looks down at his hands again and takes a deep breath. “Look, when I first met you, it was awful. I mean, not the feelings, those were crazy and wonderful and everything, but I didn’t understand them and they scared me. I thought that, if you knew, you’d spit in my face or, worse-“

“I never would have done that.”

Duncan gives him a small smile. “I know that now, but then, well, we were hockey players, you know? Trying to make it to the NHL. It was all we thought about, all we talked about, and these things I was feeling didn’t really fit into that plan. But, I couldn’t help myself. I loved you and I watched you and I knew that it was written all over my face when I looked at you, and I knew that if you ever found out, or, god forbid, one of the other guys, you’d hate me and I couldn’t live with that, but, god, I just couldn’t _help_ myself.”

Brent has never heard Duncan say that much in one breathe before, and he shifts closer, closing the space between them and laying a gentle kiss on his lover’s forehead. “Shh, it’s okay. I was stupid back then, but we figured it out, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “We did. But, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“The point?” Brent shakes his head, still confused. This conversation has veered completely off course, and it takes him a moment to remember what they were even talking about originally.

Duncan turns to him, leaning his side against the headboard and resting his foot over Brent’ shin. “If Tazer is feeling even half of what I was feeling, isn’t it our duty to let him know that he’s not alone and that it’s all going to be okay? Eventually?”

“I suppose so.” He sighs happily as Duncan’s foot rubs against his leg. “But, what? Are we just going to sit him down to a nice dinner and say ‘Hey, Caps, we’ve been fucking for the past three years and if you wanna fuck Kaner, that’s okay by us’?”

Duncan laughs. “I hadn’t figured that part out yet.”

“Hmm,” Brent hums thoughtfully, slipping his hand under Duncan’s shirt and tracing his side rhythmically.

“We have to be careful. If he doesn’t react well -.” Duncan shudders.

“And, he may not even be completely aware of his own feelings. He may fight us on that.” Brent adds helpfully and Duncan groans, burying his face in Brent’s shoulder.

“This is a bad idea.”

“No, no.” Brent moves his hand to Duncan’s back and continues rubbing thoughtful circles. “I think I know how we do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Brent grins. “Yeah, we just take it slow. Baby steps.”

“Baby steps? We tell him we kiss, then we tell him we fuck?” Duncan lifts his head, frowning.

Brent laughs. “No. We let him find us in compromising positions, things that could be or could not be, and we see how he reacts. We maintain probable deniability and if he seems okay, we up the ante.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on. We’ll be helping out our teammate and,” he slides his hand down to rub along the waistband of Duncan’s boxers, “if all goes well, our Captain will know about us and we can be us around someone else.”

Duncan sucks in a breath and leans forward, kissing the side of Brent’s mouth. “Sounds nice,” he whispers.

“Mmm.” Brent traces his tongue along Duncan’s bottom lip, and Duncan parts them, moaning against Brent’s tongue as it slides with his own.

The sound goes directly to Brent’s cock, pressing tightly against the material of his boxers, and he tugs at Duncan’s hips. Duncan goes willingly, settling on Brent’s thighs and Brent takes advantage of the new position, slipping both hands into Duncan’s boxers and squeezing his ass. Duncan shifts, spreading his knees further, the motion pushing him forward until their clothed erections rub together.

“Jesus, Brent-“ Duncan leans down, making sure that their cocks stay aligned, as his lips find Brent’s chin. He lays little kisses up his jaw, licking and sucking when he gets to the smooth, sensitive area directly behind his ear. Brent tilts his head to give Duncan more room and, jesus, Duncan takes it. His mouth is wet and hot and his tongue swipes the shell of Brent’s ear before dipping in to explore his ear fully.

“Fuck,” Brent pants, clenching Duncan’s ass and setting a rhythm of short thrusts with their hips, the friction hard and fast and wonderful. “God, fuck, you’re trying to kill me.”

“Not yet, not yet.” Duncan grins, sitting up and stripping his shirt off. Brent stills, just watching the muscles under his eyes, and Duncan flushes.

“You’re beautiful,” Brent whispers. He reaches up to tweak a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and it should be embarrassing, how much he loves seeing Duncan like this, hot and flushed and arching into his touch, but it’s _Duncan_ and nothing he could ever do could be embarrassing.

“Beautiful?” Duncan asks, biting his lip not to scream as Brent lifts his head to soothe the abused nipple, bathing it with his tongue until Duncan is panting and writhing, every movement rocking Brent’s cock in the crease between Duncan’s thighs.

“Yes, beautiful, asshole. And hot.” Brent whispers, dropping his head back to the pillow.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Brent squeezes Duncan’s ass, dropping an index finger to lay along his cleft, sweat and moisture easing his way. “God, Dunc, I want you.”

Duncan watches him for a moment, taking pleasure in Brent’s dilated eyes and lips red and swollen from kissing, before he nods. He shifts, leaning over to rummage around in the bedside table, before pulling out the lube. Brent offers him a hand and Duncan pops open the top, squeezing out a dollop.

“Ready?”

“Uh huh.” Duncan lifts just slightly, so that Brent can push in one finger. Duncan sighs, settling around the intrusion. “More.”

“M’kay.” Brent adds a second finger, scissoring them gently as Duncan closes his eyes, setting a rhythm against Brent’s hand. Soon, it’s nowhere near enough, and Duncan bends down, stretching out along Brent’s body and offering himself up for a third finger, practically purring in pleasure.

“More,” Duncan whispers, again, and Brent growls, flipping them over and letting his fingers slide out as he grinds his hips down once, twice. Duncan’s eyes are glazed and he swallows as Brent stands up just long enough to strip them both of their clothes. Brent’s staring at him, chest heaving and cock curled against his belly, and Duncan reaches out a finger to scoop up the little drops of precome on Brent’s skin. He brings the finger to his lips and, slowly, swirls his tongue around it.

“Jesus, fuck, Duncs,” Brent whines, his cock leaping and throbbing.

“Come here.”

Brent doesn’t need to be told twice. He climbs back on the bed, settling between Duncan’s thighs and reaching for the lube. He covers himself quickly, very aware of how close he is to just coming like this, all over Duncan’s chest, but he doesn’t want that, not yet. “Duncs, I-“

Duncan shifts so that he can wrap his calves around Brent’s hips, which brings Brent’s cock to rest in the passage between his thighs. Brent’s cock is leaking liberally now, slicking the passage as he thrusts a couple of times, bumping against Duncan’s balls and resting questioningly against Duncan’s ass.

“Yes, now, god, I’m ready _now_ ,” Duncan tells him, tightening his legs and Brent pushes forward until he’s seated to the hilt.

They both sigh, shifting slightly for better angles, and Brent distracts himself by reaching down and grasping Duncan’s cock in his fist. He traces the head with his thumb, collecting precome and using it as lubricant as he pumps slowly. When he’s sure that Duncan’s ready, he pulls out, just an inch, and pushes back in.

Duncan arches his back, urging him faster. “Shit, Brent, I’m not gonna break.”

Brent grins, leaning down to kiss him. The change in position brings Brent’s cock against Duncan’s prostrate and he keens, wrapping his legs even tighter around Brent’s waist. Brent groans, his control gone, as he braces himself on his elbows. “So good, jesus, Duncs, you feel _so good_. Been too long.”

“Jesus, Brent, right there, God, I’ve missed you.“ Duncan arches off the bed, searching for that place again and Brent hits it, over and over.

“You’re right, god, you’re right. It’s been too long. I’ve missed you. Jesus, Duncs, I love you, I love you.” Brent’s litany is whispered against his ear and Brent reaches out with his tongue to trace along the shell. The stimulation is too much and Duncan chokes out his orgasm, arching his back and coming in long, milky spurts across Brent’s chest.

With a moan and three more thrusts, Brent’s whole body locks and Duncan traces his back in circular patterns, soothing him through the aftershocks. Brent turns his head where it lays on Duncan’s chest, kissing him gently. “Thank you. Jesus, that was good.”

Duncan laughs and kisses his sweaty head. “For me, too.”

“Mmm.” Brent winces as he pulls out and drops to the mattress beside him.

Straightening his legs, Duncan stretches languidly and curls into Brent’s side. “The idea of Tazer knowing about us really gets to you, huh?”

Brent laughs, wrapping his arms tightly around Duncan. “Mmm. Maybe.”

Duncan shifts and stretches. “It’s a good plan.”

Brent yawns. “I know.”

“Cocky.”

He shrugs. “I have good plans. Sharpy and Burs aren’t the only ones with good plans.”

“Right,” Duncan rolls over to turn off the light, before stopping. “Tazer will wonder where you are.”

“Yep.” Brent turns to his side and grins. “Step one in the plan.”

Duncan rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue as he turns off the light and curls into Brent’s side.

***

The locker room is uncharacteristically quiet. As an extremely young team, one of the Hawks’ greatest strengths is the ability to find fun and humor in even the smallest things. Which usually means that, even after losses, Burs or Kaner or Sharpy is able to wheedle away at someone for something, which is more-likely-than-not Captain Serious for missing a hit or whiffing on a shot or just for being too easy to pick on.

But, tonight, Tazer is shooting daggers into the corner, where Kaner and Sharpy are whispering and giggling, entirely unaware of how silent the rest of the lockerroom is. The game was too close – 3-2 loss to the Canucks – and they fought too hard to laugh it off with a shrug. Tazer took a hit, hard against the boards, and he’s limping as he jams his things into his bag, making sure to slam his locker, the noise making even Kaner and Sharpy jump. They glance guiltily at each other and, shrugging, return to their benches to finish getting undressed in silence.

Brent takes in the scene from his own bench. He’s been dressed and showered for a good fifteen minutes, and he’s just waiting for Duncan to hurry up. He has no interest in sticking around for the confrontation that is obviously coming between Tazer and Kaner. He watches as Johnny thrusts his feet into his shoes, all the while glowering darkly at Kaner who, in turn, strips off his shirt and shoots small little confused looks at his best friend, trying to apologize for doing something that he doesn’t know he’s done.

Brent leans back, hitting his head against the wall. He’s so stupid. It’s been a couple of weeks since his conversation with Duncan, and he’s already forgotten all that they talked about. Of course, this scene makes complete sense, when you factor in the small kiss on the cheek Sharpy bestowed on Kaner at the end of a hard-fought game, followed by the giggling in the corner. Tazer’s bad mood has nothing to do with the loss and Brent can’t help but roll his eyes and thump his head against the wall again.

Duncan looks up from rubbing the towel through his hair, giving Brent a questioning, worried look. Brent waves away the worry as an idea comes to him, and he motions for Duncan to hurry up. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Duncan frowns, sitting down and taking his time with his shoes. “I’m tired, Seabs.”

Brent bends down beside him. “I know. I have an idea.” Duncan looks at him, but when Brent throws his bag over his shoulder and leaves the locker room with a “good night, guys,” Duncan rolls his eyes and follows him.

“What is it?” He asks as he’s pulled into the hallway next to the locker room.

“It’s time for step two.”

Duncan rubs his forehead. “I seriously have no idea what you’re on about.”

“Didn’t you see Tazer in there?”

“No. I was focused on the _terrible_ game we had.”

“Forget it.” Brent waves it aside, and Duncan raises an eyebrow. “This is more important,” Brent promises.

“What is?” Duncan hisses, crossing his arms.

Brent glances into the hallway and sees Tazer in the doorway to the locker room, saying something earnestly to Soupy. Brent turns back to Duncan, resting a warm hand intimately on the dip of his waist. Surprised, Duncan lets out a small noise and lets his hands drop.

“What are you-“

“Just follow along,” Brent whispers, taking a tiny step closer and ducking his head so that their foreheads are almost touching. He hears footsteps and lets out a small noise, somewhere between a grunt and a groan. The footsteps stop and Brent has to stifle his smile as he takes a step back and clears his throat. “Oh, hi Tazer, didn’t see ya there.”

“Ahh, yeah, I was just –“ The tips of his ears are pink and his eyes are flashing between Brent and Duncan.

Brent smiles. “Duncs and I were thinking of going for a beer. You wanna come?”

“Um,” Tazer looks behind him, as if expecting to see someone there. “Nah, I’m, um, really tired.”

“It’s not good to bottle up bad games, you know?” Brent’s eyes are gleaming as he smiles.

“I know, I just – You guys go. Have fun. See you at practice tomorrow.” He gives them a small wave and goes ten steps before turning back with a quizzical look and a shrug, before continuing out of the United Center.

Brent takes a step further back, giving Duncan enough room to straighten up from the wall. “You. Are. Insane.”

Brent shrugs. “Maybe. But, the plan’s working, so, whatever.”

There really is no arguing with that, not with the look on Tazer’s face as he left them, so all Duncan can do is huff and roll his eyes and follow Brent’s lead.  
***  
When Tazer’s landlord decides to sell his apartment, giving Tazer two weeks to find a new place to live, Duncan doesn’t hesitate to offer up Seabs’ extra room. He sees it as the next step in the plan and, besides, he figures it won’t take long before their Captain finds a place of his own.

A month later, Duncan is rethinking his decision. He’s lost count of the number of times over the past four weeks that Tazer has dropped comments such as, “Seabs is such an easy person to live with,” “I mean, yeah, he leaves his clothes around, but it’s nice to have someone to come home to,” and “Yeah, it’s tough living with Seabs, but my Wii Golf skills are improving so much, give me another four or five months and I’ll be beating my brother.” At this last one, Duncan and Brent had exchanged wide-eyes looks, Brent mouthing _four or five months?_ and Duncan unable to do anything but shrug and curse himself.

And all that wouldn’t be so bad, if their plan was working and Tazer just _knew_ about them. All in all, he’s not such a bad roommate, and there are benefits to doing the Captain a favor. Brent thinks that he’s doing Tazer some good, helping him loosen up a bit. It’s nice to come home after a hard practice, open a couple of beers, and lounge on the couch with your buddy. If only he didn’t spend the whole time imagining that Duncan was there with them, stealing sips from his beer and fighting over the channel changer to watch one of those horror movies he insists on.

So, Brent is extremely frustrated by the time they’re let out of another late practice. Coach Q had them skating suicides for an extra half-hour, after all five members of their top line failed to complete a pass for the last fifteen minutes of practice. Brent takes his due, knowing that his distraction was one-fifth of the blame, and he spends a long time in the shower. The temperature is scalding hot, meant to wash away the memories of the practice, and when he’s out and dressed, his cheeks are still pink and his hair still steaming.

There’s laughter from next to him and he looks over to see Duncs packing his bag, smiling up at him. Brent frowns. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Duncan grins and straightens up, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “You just, err, you look cute like that.”

“What?”

“Fresh out of the shower. It’s a good look.” Duncan winks and that’s enough for Brent, who throws his half-packed bag over his shoulder and storms out of the locker room. Glancing around, Duncan sees that both Tazer and Sharpy have made moves to follow him. He holds up a hand and they both stop. “I, ahh, let me go.”

They both nod and he throws his bag over his shoulder, following his partner out the door at a much more normal pace. It doesn’t take long to find Brent, who is resting against the wall right outside the player exit, staring at his feet and wringing his hands together to ward of the cold of Chicago Januaries. Duncan hands him his hat and gloves, which he had left in the locker room as he stormed out, and Brent gives him a grateful look.

“Thanks.”

“You look cold.”

“I am.” They stand in silence for a moment, until Brent ducks his head and peers at Duncan. “I _miss_ you.”

Duncan sighs, shuffling his feet and kicking angrily at a rock. “If I had known Tazer was going to move in for good, I never would have made the suggestion.”

“We could just tell him.”

Duncan blows out a breath and Brent looks at the ground, knowing the response that’s coming. “You know we can’t do that. Not yet. Not until we’re certain it’ll be okay.”

“He’s going to be fine. Come on, you know that.”

Duncan shakes his head. “God, I hope so. And I think so but, Jesus, if we’re wrong and he’s not okay with us-“

“I know, I know.” Brent rolls his eyes and thumps his head against the wall, feeling like a child when the back of his head begins to throb. “It’s just – after _three_ years, don’t you miss me at all?”

“Oh, god, Brent-“ Duncan breaths, turning and stepping between Brent’s legs, grasping his chin in his hands and kissing him deeply. It’s a long, slow kiss, full of longing, and when they pull apart, they’re both aching. Duncan shakes his head, resting their foreheads together. “You will never know how much.”

Brent smiles, biting his lip. “We’re on the road next week.”

“I know.”

“I know we’ve never before, but, maybe, just this once-“

“Exceptions are good.”

“Exceptions are very good.” Brent is grinning and he hears voices coming from inside. He leans forward, kissing Duncs lightly one last time. “I love you.”

“Mmm, you too.” Duncan returns his grin, bending down to grab his bag and step away just in time for their teammates to join them outside.

Tazer jumps a little on his feet, rubbing his hands together. “Fuck it’s cold.”

Brent laughs and shakes his head. “Wii Golf tournament, our place?” There’s a chorus of yeses, and Brent risks one last glance at Duncan before he pushes away from the wall and leads the way to his car.  
***  
The first time Duncan gets caught in Brent’s kitchen, it’s an accident. At the time, he knew it was an incredibly stupid move. But the text comes – _Tazer’s out all night. Come over. Pleeeease <3 _– and even though he knows he shouldn’t, Duncan never has a chance. It’s the heart, really, that does him in, because it’s ridiculous and adorable and _so_ like a twelve-year-old girl but, in the end, Brent sort of is a twelve-year-old girl so, to Duncan, it’s just really endearing. Or, perhaps, that’s just how far gone Duncan is.

Either way, Duncan is curled, naked, against Brent’s chest at dawn when he hears the front door slam. “Shit, he’s home.”

“Hmm, what?” Brent asks lazily, rolling over and reaching for his lover.

Duncan watches him for a moment, smiling, but then he hears shoes kicked against the wall and he remembers that staring at Brent is what got him in this mess in the first place. “I gotta go.” He hisses. “Tazer’s home.”

“Tazer? Nah, he’s out all night.”

“Yeah, well, it’s morning.” Duncan squints at the clock, which reads 5:04 and he concedes, “Well, almost morning. Anyway, he’s home.” Duncan’s voice is insistent as he jumps out of bed and fishes for his boxers. He finds a pair and he’s pretty sure they’re Brent’s, but he hops on one foot to pull them on anyway.

The movement finally starts to wake Brent up for real, and he fathers a pillow under his chin, blinking owlishly up at Duncan. “Where ya goin’?”

“You’re an asshole in the morning.” Duncan sighs, doing up the button on his jeans and searching for a shirt that isn’t come-covered. Finally, he digs one out of the bottom drawer he’s confiscated as his own. It’s old and green and has something to do with St. Patrick’s day, but he shrugs and pulls it on. “Johnny’s home.”

“What?” Brent’s finally awake and he sits up, letting the sheet pool in his waist, really doing nothing to cover his morning erection.

Duncan groans, leaning over to kiss him lightly and palm the erection. He hears a door close and assumes that Tazer has vacated the living room for his own room. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

“Mmm,” Brent’s eyes are half-closed and his hips buck involuntarily. “You’re cruel.”

“My middle name.”

Brent chokes out a laugh and shakes his head as Duncan pulls on his jacket and a hat. It’s one of those with a bobble on the top, and Brent reaches over to flick it. “I’m gonna miss you when I wake up. For real.”

Duncan smiles. “I’ll see you at practice.”

“Sorry ‘bout Tazer.”

“Not your fault.” Duncan reaches over the bed to kiss him. “I’m just gonna sneak out quietly.”

Duncan waves a reluctant goodbye and slips out the door, moving quietly through the house. He thinks he’s made it, when he hears Johnny’s bedroom door open again. With nowhere else to go, Duncan ducks into the kitchen. With any luck, Johnny’s just going to the bathroom, and won’t even notice someone else in the front of the house.

Except, the footsteps are moving towards him and, too soon, Johnny’s in the doorway, boxers slung low across his hips, t-shirt riding up as he rubs at the exposed skin of his belly. “Fuck, Duncs? What are you doing here?”

“I – ahh –“ Duncs looks around, frantically, catching sight of the milk galloon they left out the night before. He picks it up, smiling. “I came to borrow some milk.”

“Milk?” Johnny blinks.

“Yep, milk. Everyone needs milk, right?”

“Mmm, sure.” Johnny speaks slowly, not pointing out that it’s five in the morning, and no one in their right mind needs milk that badly at five in the morning.

“Seabs and I have an open door policy. If we need milk we can come borrow it. No questions asked.”

“Okay.”

“Well, I gotta go. Got what I came for.”

“Goodnight. Err,” Johnny rubs his forehead. “Good morning?”

“Either, or. Whatever. See you at practice.” Duncan isn’t sure that Johnny buys his story, but he slips past him and leaves the house quickly. He congratulates himself on his quick save before he realizes that, after all that, he forgot to take the carton with him. He sighs and decides to just chalk the whole incident up to step three anyway.  
***  
“We have to take it up a notch.”

“What?” Duncan pulls his practice jersey over his head and throws it into the laundry basket.

“I’m losing my patience. I mean, how thickskulled can one guy be?”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Brent looks around at their teammates, all busy and focusing on getting showered and changed and out of the locker room, and leans in closer. “Johnny. Seriously, he should be getting things by now.”

Duncan shrugs, glancing over at where Kaner and Tazer are locked in a tussle. “We just have to give him a little more time.”

“Okay, but, I warn you, I’m going to do something drastic soon.”

Duncan raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Is that a dare?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Hmm.” Brent hums, a slow smirk growing. “You asked for it.”  
***  
They’re at a bar, again. The Pony Bar up on Belmont, one of the team’s favorites and, therefore, one packed with fans asking for autographs and offering to buy them drinks. As a rule, Johnny will accept a drink or two, sign autographs for about thirty minutes, then slink away into the shadows to nurse a beer and pretend to not watch Kaner take shots at the bar.

“The blonde one’s cute.”

Johnny looks up as he slides onto the bench to see Seabs grinning at him, eyes twinkling. Johnny follows his eyes to a girl at the bar who, noticing his gaze, blows him a kiss. Johnny waves meekly before turning his back on her and shrugging at his teammates. “She’s not really my type.”

“Really?” Brent’s eyes are definitely twinkling now. “I thought blondes were exactly your type.”

“What does that mean?” Johnny feels obliged to defend himself even as his attention is drawn to Patrick’s sharp laughter back at the bar.

Brent leans towards Duncan and whispers. “That’s what I mean.”

Duncan laughs and splutters on his beer as Brent reaches under the table to squeeze his knee. Duncan jumps and blushes, just in time for Johnny to turn back around and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’,” Brent drawls as his hand inches up, caressing Duncan’s thigh.

Duncan jumps, his knee hitting the table so that the whole thing rattles and Tazer’s beer splashes over the sides. Brent smiles apologetically. “I think there’s a rat under the table or something. It seems to be after Duncs.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “A rat.”

“Or something. Something like a rat.”

“The health department would shut this place down if there were rodents running around.”

“That would be a shame. I like this place. Here, I’ll order you another beer.” He waves over their waitress and orders another round for the table, even including Kaner at the bar for good measure.

When everyone seems suitably distracted from the fake-rat comment, which really, he admits, was not his finest moment, he rests his hand back on Duncan’s thigh. Dunc tenses, but Brent completely ignores him, chatting absently with Tazer about the women around Kaner, placing bets on how far each of them will get.

With a growl of frustration, Duncan leans forward, dislodging Brent’s hand and pulling him down so that he can whisper in his ear. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

“Step four. Now, just relax.” He brings his hand back, squeezing Duncan’s thigh before moving his hand up to rest between his legs.

“Step four?” Duncan almost squeaks, before glancing at Tazer’s half-turned back. He lowers his voice. “Why does this have to be step four?”

“’Cause it’s a good idea. And we need to step it up a notch.”

“Course it’s a good idea, ‘cause it’s not you who’s going to be embarrassed,” Duncan grumbles.

Brent grins, pressing his palm down and feeling Duncan swell. “S’not going to be embarrassing. I’m gonna make ya feel good. Promise.”

Duncan hisses, starting to lean back against the seats, when he notices that, even in the dark of their corner, the position would leave him all-too exposed. Shifting, he leans his elbows on the table, using the curve of his back to cover Brent’s hand. Brent’s hand tightens and Duncan, deciding the better part of valor would be to just play along, spreads his knees. Wide.

“Jesus,” Brent hisses into his ear. “You’re hot. I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“Mmm,” Duncan grins, hitching his hips to press hard into Brent’s palm. Johnny’s giving them another weird sideways look, and, with Brent too busy focusing on his hand, it’s up to Duncs to distract him. “So, Taze, we got a long road trip comin’ up.”

Johnny turns all the way towards them, a soft, small smile on his face. “Yeah.”

Brent traces the outline of Duncan’s erection, pressing down on the head and smiling at the wet spot already forming. Duncan just shifts, pressing further into Brent’s hand, and smirks. “Looking forward to it?”

“Yeah, I mean-“ Brent warps his fingers around Duncan’s erection and pumps once, hard, and Duncs sucks in a breath. His cock is painfully hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans. He shifts his hips, trying to find some release. Johnny gives him a strange look. “You okay, man?”

“It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think?” Dunc asks, shrugging a little too casually.

“Ahh, I guess?”

“Anyway, you were saying-?” Duncan asks, shifting again and trying hard to listen as Brent flips open the button on his pants and slips his hand inside, his fingers hot and hard and Duncan can’t help the little moan that escapes his lips.

Johnny raises an eyebrow, but continues talking. “… and we play well on the road. It gives us the chance to gel, you know? Late nights, hours on the plane. It’s good for us to spend time together.”

Brent raises an eyebrow as he twists his wrist and pumps harder under the table. Duncan is losing the fight now, his cheeks flushed and his breathe coming in short, shallow puffs. Brent smiles, trying to draw Johnny’s attention to him. “We don’t spend enough time together now? I’m hurt, Johnny, really. I fuckin’ _live_ with you.”

“No, no, I mean,” Johnny splutters and Brent grins at him. Johnny glares. “You’re an ass.”

“But you set yourself up so nicely.”

“Fuck you.”

“Language, Captain. I’m shocked.”

Johnny flips him off. “You know what I mean.”

“You know what? I do. I enjoy the road. I miss Duncs when we’re at home.”

Duncan gasps, half at the comment and half at Brent’s fingers, which have gathered up his precome and have used it to slick his way. Duncan’s hips are thrusting rhythmically now, and he’s glad that Brent has a big enough body to mostly shield him from prying eyes.

“I know what you mean.” It’s a sad comment, completely out of place in the light, joking conversation and Brent files it away with all the other off-handed comments Johnny has made about Kaner.

Johnny sighs, glancing back over at the bar, and Brent takes the opportunity to lean over and whisper into Duncan’s ear. “You can come now.” And Duncan groans, arching his hips and biting his fist to stay quiet. Brent’s hand softens, soothing him through the aftershocks. “God, you’re so hot. Love you.”

Duncan releases his clenched fists and grabs a napkin from the table, reaching down to clean Brent’s hand and put himself away. “It _was_ hot, wasn’t it?”

Brent raises an eyebrow. “You got an exhibitionist streak in you I didn’t know about?”

Duncan shrugs. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

“Course not,” Brent whispers, eyes gleaming.

“You sure you guys are okay?” Johnny’s peering at them worriedly, his Captain’s hat on, and Brent really should be paying enough attention to know when Johnny had turned back around. “Are you sure you aren’t getting sick? We have this road series coming up, you really have to take care of yourselves.”

“Yeah, you know, I am feeling a bit under the weather.” Duncan shrugs, grabbing for his coat. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I think I’ll head home anyway.”

“Good idea. I’ll walk out with you, I could use some fresh air.” Brent slips out of the booth with him and pulls his coat on as they head outside. He stops next to Duncan’s car and pushes his hands into his pockets.

Duncan looks at him and laughs. “If Tazer doesn’t figure things out now, there’s no hope for the kid.”

“That was the goal.”

“It was a good goal,” Duncan reassures him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Duncan leans closer, then glances around at all the people on the street and settles on just being close. “I need to go get cleaned up. I blame you.”

Brent laughs. “I’m gonna make sure the kids are okay. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Duncan whispers as he pulls away and climbs into his car.  
***  
Patrick makes it a goal not to punch anyone anymore. Not after the incident in Buffalo over Christmas and all the press it got. People tend to think that he likes the publicity, that he actually goes out of his way to get caught in crazy and embarrassing predicaments, but that’s just not true. In fact, Patrick goes out of his way to _avoid_ them, it’s just, well, they tend to find him.

Like now, when this guy who is much bigger and much stronger than he is, steps into Johnny’s face and spouts off about his girl or something. Which is strange, ‘cause Tazer hasn’t been with any girls all night, Patrick is sure he would have noticed _that_ , and he feels this sudden, nearly-inexplicable anger about how the guy is treating his best friend.

So, he turns around, draws back his elbow, and punches the guy.

It seems like a brave, strong thing to do at the time. Until his fist starts smarting and he hops around in pain, unable to dodge away from the guy’s own fist. The guy who is definitely _not_ shaking his fist in pain after it connects with Patrick’s eye. Patrick cringes, trying not to note how afraid he is of getting hit again.

But Sharpy and Duncs are there to help Johnny hold the guy down and he doesn’t have the energy to fight Seabs as he drags Patrick outside. Seabs glances around for media and, seeing none, turns back to Patrick with a grin that is way out of proportion with the situation.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.” Brent admits, laughing as Patrick cradles his fist close to his chest.

“I think I broke something.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Patrick glares at him and Brent laughs again. “Fine, let me see.”

Gingerly, Patrick holds out his hand and Brent takes it gently, feeling along the knuckles and bending each finger. “Ow, jesus, Seabs.”

Brent lets the hand fall and raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to fine. Some bruising, and you’ve got a really good shiner going on your left eye, but you’ll heal.” He glances at the door to the bar and, seeing Tazer and Duncan and Sharpy in the doorway about to leave, he pulls Patrick into the alley. “I want you to tell me what happened in there.”

“Nothing.” Patrick stares down at the ground and kicks at the gravel. “A little too much beer, you know?”

“Yeah, I know, but,” He ducks his head so that he can look at Patrick’s face, “this is something more than that.”

“No, it’s not-“

“Is this about Johnny?”

“Johnny?” Patrick’s head snaps up. “Nah, no, of course it’s not. Why would you think-? God no.”

“It’s okay if it is.”

“Well,” Patrick twists his fingers, wishing he were holding a beer. He bends down to pick up a stone and tosses it back and forth between his hands, cringing as he moves his bruised fingers. “I just don’t like seeing him disrespected is all.”

“And that’s all?”

“What do you want me to say?” Patrick is getting angry, and Brent holds up his hands.

“Nothing, nothing. Let’s get you home and put some ice on that hand.”

They climb into Brent’s car and he drives in silence. Traffic is light this time of night and when he glances over, Patrick’s leaning against the window. He looks boyish, his hair tousled and plastered against the window, his features open. They’re almost to his house when he finally whispers, barely audible.

“I didn’t have much to drink tonight.”

“I know,” Brent whispers, not wanting to disturb him.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Brent reaches over and squeezes Patrick’s knee. “You’ll figure it out.”  
***  
When Brent gets home, Johnny is sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He glances up when the door opens. “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine. A bit bruised, but fine.”

“Good. I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. Are-“ He takes a closer look at Johnny. “Are you okay, man?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Johnny waves him away. “Just tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Kay.” Brent watches him disappear, before heading into the kitchen and peering into the fridge. His phone rings and he grins, grabbing a water bottle and closing the door with his hip as he answers. “Hey babe.”

“Hey to you too. You home?”

“Yep.” Brent makes his way to his room and shuts the door tightly. “Dropped Kaner off, then got home to find Tazer waiting for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re getting _so_ close.”

“Did Kaner say something?”

“He’s confused but, yeah, he’s figuring it out.”

“Good. And Tazer?”

“He’s definitely starting to come to some sort of realization.”

“Finally.” Duncan sighs in exasperation. “They really are both the most thick-skulled-“ Brent laughs and Duncan frowns. “I’m gonna have a talk with Johnny.”

“Have it your way.”

“The sooner we finish this, the better.”

“Mmm.” Brent collapses on his bed, stretching his long body and sighing. “I miss you too.”

“Hmm.” Duncan strips out of his jeans and flops onto his own bed. “What are you doing now?”

Brent raises an eyebrow. “Lying in bed. Where else would I be-?“ He stretches, then stops, getting what Duncs is getting at. He drops his voice. “Wishing you were here.”

“You, too.” Duncs whispers, dropping a hand into his waistband and gasping. “I miss your hands.”

“Oh, god, you’re not –“ Duncs’ breath is shallow over the phone, and Brent groans. “Jesus, you are.”

“Uh huh.” Duncs twists his wrist and sighs. “Tell me what to do, Brent.”

“What- fuck!” Brent drops his hand to his quivering stomach. “Touch yourself for me. Reach into your boxers and stroke yourself.”

“Jesus, Brent.” Duncan strokes himself harder. “Touch yourself for me, too. Think about my hand on you, squeezing at the base, swiping my thumb across the head of your cock. Imagine me, hot and wet and, jesus-“

“You’re good at his,” Brent laughs, doing everything Duncan asks. His hips buck helplessly off the bed and he pants. “Please, can I take my boxers off? I want to be naked. For you.”

“God, yes.” Duncan closes his eyes, resting the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He drops his hands to his waistband and waits. “I’m going to take them off, too, okay? Slowly. Gonna give you a show.”

Brent groans and, in his hurry to squirm out of his boxers, he drops the phone and curses. He has to thrash around in the sheets to get it and, when he finally brings the phone to his ear again, Duncan is laughing and Brent’s erection has subsided. “Damn it, sorry, I’m ahh, I’ve never done – I’ve never wanted, before –“

“Shh, babe, it’s okay.” Duncan soothes him, smiling and adjusting the phone. “Close your eyes and listen to my voice. I want you to stroke yourself, okay? Long, slow strokes. I want you hard, got that?”

Brent nods, before he realizes that Duncs can’t see that. “Yes, god, I’m –“

“I want you really hard and leaking for me. Open your eyes, look at yourself.”

Reluctantly, Brent opens his eyes and glances down to see his cock, hard again and curled tight against his belly, certainly recovered from his earlier embarrassment. “No problem there,” he laughs and it comes out throaty and breathless.

“Good. God, I bet you’re so beautiful. I want you so bad.”

Brent scrambles up to sit against the headboard, desperate to do everything for Duncan that he’s doing for him. “You have me babe, you do. All of me, my cock, my balls-“

Duncan thrusts up into his fist, then reaches down to grasp the bottom of his cock, not ready to come just yet. “Jesus, I could come just from your voice.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot. So fucking hot.”

Duncan holds back a laugh. “It’s you, babe, it’s all you. I want you to cup your balls, now, okay?”

“Mmm.” Brent drops a hand and, still stroking himself in a slow, measured rhythm, he plays with his balls.

“Got that?”

“Yeah.” Brent’s voice is low and graveled and it sends sparks down Duncan’s spine.

Duncan takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and imaging the actions as he says them. “Okay, now, reach back, imagine my fingers in your ass.”

“Oh, jesus – fuck!” Brent raises his hips and lets out a grunt as his fingers slip into place.

“Are you fucking yourself for me? Please, tell me you are-”

“Yes, yes-“ Brent’s voice is strangled and his cock is leaking across his belly, precome dribbling down his thighs. “Please, can I touch myself? I need you, god, I’m so _hard_.”

Duncan groans, tightening his hand. “Yes, yes, baby. Imagine me while you do it.”

Brent lets out a groan of pleasure as he wraps his fist around his cock, pumping it in the same rhythm as his fingers. Duncan is making little noises into the phone and, with his eyes closed, he can imagine that it’s Duncan here, it’s Duncan’s fist around his cock and his fingers in his ass and Brent falls apart, crying and gasping for air as come coats his belly.

Duncan’s hips thrust uncontrollably into his fist as he follows, listening to Brent’s noises and picturing how wonderful he looks, spread out on the bed, sated and covered in his own come.

“Did you – _Fuck_ , did you just come?”

“Yeah, I –“ Duncan breathes heavily, settling back into his pillows. “Thank you, that was –“

“Wonderful,” Brent sighs, stretching out contentedly. “I still wish you were here but, jesus, that was good.”

Duncan laughs. “I love you.”

“Mmm, love you, too.” He’s drifting off to sleep and Duncan smiles.

“”Night, love.”

“”Night.”  
***  
The next time they’re caught in a compromising position, it isn’t planned.

It’s in St. Louis. They won at the UC last night, a close 2-1 game that kept them all wired long into the early morning as they piled onto the bus and made the drive. It’s only a five hours from Chicago to St. Louis, but with the close turn-around between games, that still only gives them a few hours at the hotel before they’re climbing back on the bus for morning skate.

Brent’s running on about three hours of sleep and depleting adrenaline and his head is feeling heavy and slow. So, when he glances across the stretching circle to see Duncan bent fully over his leg, Brent has a hard time not imagining other uses for his flexibility. He knows he’s blushing and, when he catches his Captain’s gaze on him, he ducks his head.

The feeling doesn’t go away, however. It’s just too much energy in his current condition to not brush against Duncs every time they huddle around Coach Q to hear a drill or mini pep talk. And Duncan has to be having the same problem, because once the scrimmage starts and they’re on the bench, he bumps their shoulders together and gives him a small, shy smile.

Now, Sharpy’s standing in front of him, saying something, and Brent has to shake his head to focus on what he’s saying. “We’re headed over to the hotel restaurant. I’m starving.”

“Thanks, man. But, I’m exhausted.” Brent’s starving, too, but he’s more tired and he needs to get himself under control before the game tonight.

“Have it your way.” Sharpy slaps him on the shoulder as he heads to the showers.

But, when Brent gets back to the hotel room, Duncan is already there. He’s curled up on the bed that is normally _Brent’s_ , eyes closed and breath shallow. It takes more than Brent has not to join him, and he toes off his shoes and settles onto the bed, moving gently so as not to wake Duncs. He tells himself that, as they’re laying _on top_ of the quilt, it’s all fine and this doesn’t go against their no-sex-in-hotels rule. Besides, all he wants to do is curl tightly around Duncs and _sleep_.

With a contended noise, Duncan scoots back and curls himself further into Brent’s arms. Brent buries his face in Duncan’s neck and he doesn’t remember anything else until there’s insistent knocking on the door.

Brent stretches, kissing Duncan’s neck before slipping off the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus, we’re coming,” he yells at the door and opens it. Sharpy’s grinning at him on the other side and he pushes past him without being asked in, followed closely by Burs, Kaner and Tazer.

“What’s up?” Brent asks, rubbing the back of his neck and closing the door behind them.

“We’re bored. What are you up to?” Sharpy turns to him, grin reaching all the way to his eyes and, not for the first time, Brent has the sneaking suspicion that Sharpy is psychic.

Duncan swings his legs over the bed and stretches, glaring at their teammates and making his presence known for the first time. “We _were_ napping.”

“Napping?” Burs looks back and forth between the beds pointedly.

Brent shrugs. “We didn’t want to mess up both beds.”

“You guys are weird.” Sharpy shakes his head, still smiling, and Brent can only shrug. Again.

Kaner raises an eyebrow and flops down on the perfectly made bed. “I wanna play Mario Cart. You shouldn’t keep it in here if all you’re gonna do is _sleep_ , assholes.”

“Over there,” Brent motions to the bag in the corner and Kaner pounces on it.

“Awesome.”

And that’s it, except that Johnny’s still standing in the corner, arms crossed, staring at the used bed. Brent’s sure he’s making note of the indentations in the quilt, how they are much too close together for normal. Johnny’s face is serene as realization seems to come to him, and Brent shares a look with Duncs. They both know it’s time, and Brent would laugh at the irony of it being _this_ , something so normal and commonplace as a _nap_ that does them in, but he’s too busy trying to make eye contact with Johnny, who just shakes his head and shrugs to himself, pushing off from the wall and wrestling the controller away from Kaner.

***

The second time Duncan is caught in the kitchen, it’s planned. He sets the alarm for an ungodly hour, shushing Brent’s wining with a kiss and telling him to go back to sleep as he slips on his boxers and one of Brent’s shirts. It’s a red Team Canada shirt, with Brent’s #7 on the back, so it can’t be mistaken as anything but Duncan wearing his clothing.

The kitchen is stocked. Duncan had written out a very specific list of things, and Brent had grumbled but, in the end, had bought more than enough of every item and now the fridge is fuller than it was the last time Brent’s mother was in town. So, Duncan pulls out eggs and milk and gets to work on the homemade pancakes his mother always used to make when she wanted to have a real, serious conversation with him.

“Fuck, it’s early, Seabs,” Johnny whines and Duncan looks over to see him at the edge of the kitchen, stretching and rubbing his eyes. He’s wearing an old ratty t-shirt and red Blackhawks boxers, his short hair sleep-tousled, and Duncan has to admit that he is adorable, in a little brother kinda way.

“Mornin’.” He smiles, pushing a cup of coffee into his hands.

“Thank- Duncs?” Johnny blinks at him. Then blinks again. “What are you _doing_ here? It’s early and are you wearing Seabs’ shirt? Fuck.” He takes a quick sip of scalding coffee and Duncan flinches in sympathy as Johnny burns his tongue. “Fuck, fuck. I _was_ right.”

“’Bout what?”

“You and Seabs.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair and takes a much slower sip. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Duncan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“And you’re really dating Seabs?”

“Don’t sound so surprised asshole.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Well-“ Duncan shuffles his feet and turns back to the pancakes so that they won’t burn. “We’ve been dropping hints for months. Took you long enough to figure it out. We didn’t want to just come out and tell you, you know?”

“Fuck.”

“Jesus, you’re vulgar in the morning.” Duncan flips a stack of pancakes onto a plate and sets it on the breakfast bar next to the butter and syrup and powdered sugar. “Sit. Eat some pancakes.”

“I don’t want pancakes.”

Duncan rolls his eyes. “Yes, you do. For this conversation, you do.”

Johnny grumbles, but takes his seat and digs in, tilting his head and looking up at Duncs, his mouth still full. “These are really good.”

Duncan laughs. “I’m gonna start taking offense at how surprised you keep sounding.”

“Sorry.” He swallows and takes another swig of coffee. “Orange juice?”

Duncan takes the carton from the fridge and hands Johnny a glass. “Here.”

“You were, umm, you were really prepared for this, huh?”

“Yeah.” Duncan smiles shyly and stacks a new mound of pancakes onto Johnny’s plate. “I needed you to be okay.”

“And food does that?”

“Always did for me.”

“Okay.” Johnny takes a few more bites in silence and Duncan makes a plate for himself, leaning against the counter and eating quietly. “Okay,” Johnny says, again, putting his fork down and looking at him, and Duncan is reminded where that ‘Captain Serious’ nickname comes from.

Johnny folds his hands in his lap and takes a deep breath. “I’m happy for you. I am. I mean, how would I not be? You two are fucking perfect for each other. You’ve been practically married for years.” He tilts his head, as if a thought is finally hitting him. “In fact, how long-?”

“Three years.”

“Jesus,” Johnny breathes. “That would do it.”

Duncan laughs. “Well, almost four years, in September.”

“Wow.” Johnny laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry, it’s a lot to take in. I mean, no surprise, you’ve done a good job of leading up to this - Seabs’ idea?”

Duncan nods.

“I was really starting to wonder, you know? That time, at the Pony Bar-?”

Duncan interrupts him, holding up a hand and grimacing. “You really don’t wanna know.”

Johnny shudders. “Okay.” He shifts in his seat, picking up his coffee mug and starting to sip it again. “Why now?”

“Well, um, I –“ Duncan clears his throat, taking a sip of his orange juice and trying to figure out how to breach this part of the conversation. Finally, he settles on taking it slow and subtle. “I see a lot of myself in you.”

“Fuck you. I’m only four years younger than you.”

Too subtle, apparently, and Johnny is glaring at him and he backtracks, quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t, well, I wasn’t referring to age.”

“What-“ Johnny’s voice is dangerously low. “What were you referring to?”

“Relax, jesus, just take a breath, okay?” Duncan holds up a hand. “I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t wanna talk about.”

“How’d this get about me?” Johnny asks, glaring. “I thought this was a conversation about you and Seabs and how you don’t _trust_ us enough to tell us that you’re fucking fags.”

Johnny spits the words and Duncan flinches. “Fuck you.”

They’re at a crossroads, staring at each other, and Duncan refuses to be the one to break it, not this time. Finally, Johnny’s shoulders slump and he turns his eyes to his plate, moving his pancakes around in the syrup. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean that. Really.”

Duncan takes a deep breath, reminding himself that Johnny is hurting and that he needs to take it out on somebody and if that person has to be Duncan, well, at least he’s more equipped to handle it than most. “It’s okay. And, this conversation _is_ about us, Brent and I and you and-“ He lets it stand for a moment until Johnny looks up at him, his face shuttered and tired and wary.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Don’t do that.” Duncan shakes his head and leans forward against the counter, reaching a hand out to rest on Johnny’s wrist. “I know that you know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve been there, remember?”

Johnny looks away, shaking his wrist out of Duncan’s grasp. “Three years, huh?”

Duncan nods. “It took us a long time to admit it. A lot of wasted time and angst and, in the end, none of it mattered. Just talk to him, all right?”

Johnny nods slowly, still looking down at his plate. A door opens down the hallway and Duncan gets up, pushing a large stack of pancakes onto a plate and handing it to a blinking Seabs as he enters the kitchen. “Mornin’” He smiles, reaching up for a quick kiss.

Brent hums into it, before pulling away and glancing at Johnny, who’s watching them with a thoughtful expression. Brent winks at Duncan before coming around the counter and slapping Johnny upside the head before sitting next to him. “So you finally figured it out, huh?”

Johnny glares and reaches for another few pancakes himself. “I had figured it out. I just hadn’t . . . put it into words.”

Brent’s not sure if he’s talking about him and Duncs, or him and Kaner, but Brent smiles into his pancakes either way. “Well, good.”  
***  
It’s been a few weeks since the conversation in the kitchen. Duncan has started staying over nights again, and Johnny doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. In fact, he’s started opening up, asking questions, and, in quiet moments, when they’re watching a movie and Brent and Duncs are curled up on the other side of the couch, they’ve caught Johnny looking at them thoughtfully. They haven’t said anything, though, and they haven’t done anything more than share short kisses in the kitchen or tease each other while playing Mario Cart, tiny intimacies meant only to ease Johnny into the idea.

Johnny still doesn’t know what to think. Well, that’s a lie. He knows that he’s happy for Duncs and Biscuit, and he knows that he gets a little trembling feeling in his stomach when they’re doing something couple-y. He finds himself thinking about them at the oddest times, imagining what it would be like to be touched like that, held like that, smiled at in such a way. He’s not stupid enough not to realize that he’s focusing on them to ignore his own problems, but he’s okay with that, as long as looking at them keeps him from looking elsewhere.

He knows he’s in trouble, though, when he wakes up one morning, trembling and covered in his own come after a vivid wet dream involving Duncs and Seabs in a limo with the Stanley Cup. He knows he’s not attracted to _them_ , per say, but more to the idea of sharing in someone else’s life so completely that a tiny touch on the shoulder can be an entire conversation. Or perhaps he’s just horny.

His cock is still jerking against his belly and he knows that, even if he’s not ready to admit yet who that someone is, he has certainly stepped over a boundary here and he has to do _something_. So he rolls out of bed, takes a very long, very cold shower, scratching at himself until his skin is raw and he feels a little less humiliated.

It’s still early on a rare day off during a three-day stretch without a game. Not wanting to face Duncs and Seabs, not just yet, he takes a walk. A long walk, through the snowy streets of Chicago, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets and cursing himself for forgetting a hat in the piercing Chicago winds.

When he gets to where he’s going it’s four o’clock and it’s still early, but he settles himself in a chair and orders a beer anyway. It’s not a particularly up-scale strip club, but it’s not one of those seedy mobster establishments Chicago’s known for either. The girls are pretty, or at least he assumes they are, and he blows a good $400 and seven or eight beers before he’s calm enough to lean back in his chair and start palming his cock.

He’s not a lightweight. Jesus, he’s spent hundreds of evenings as Kaner’s wingman, and no one can do that without learning to hold his liquor. But, he hasn’t slept a lot lately, and he hasn’t eaten anything today, so the world is spinning a bit when the redhead pulls him into a back room. He’d take her home, ‘cause he’s a good guy and even if he is using her to forget himself, he doesn’t want to disrespect her. But, his home is Seabs’ home and he just can’t face it. It seems important that he tells her that, so he takes hold of her arm and stops her, “I, I would take you home, you know? But my roommate’s there and see, it’s not that he wouldn’t approve, but, you know, I think he has other plans for me and-“ He trails off, ‘cause he knows that he’s slurring and babbling, and he stares at her, willing her to understand.

She smiles, reaching up and patting him on the cheek. “You really are adorable.”

“Huh,” he whispers, ‘cause maybe she does understand. They slip into her room with the small twin bed, and they’re undressed quickly. He doesn’t remember much after that but that he doesn’t last long and that she seems to enjoy it none-the-less. He’s also thankful that “Pat” is an ambiguous name, so that the look she gives him says, ‘Oh, that’s so sweet, trying to bury a long-lost girlfriend,’ not ‘Oh, god, you’re gay and can’t admit it and now I’m you’re beard.’

She’s smiling at him on the bed, wrapped in the sheet and smoking a cigarette out the window. “Good?”

“Ahh, yeah, thanks. I, uhh, I really needed that.”

“I know.” She grins and doesn’t protest when he slips his jeans on and waves goodbye while still struggling to get his arms into his jacket.

It’s snowing by now and he doesn’t know what time it is, but it has to be late ‘cause the area is bustling and it’s beautiful, in a strange sort of way, with people rushing back and forth in hats and scarves and pink cheeks. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, noting three new voice messages and six texts. They’re all from Seabs, Sharpy and Kaner, asking some variation of _Where are you?_

He finds the one from Seabs and types a quick _Srry. Got held up. Where r u?_ Thankfully, his buzz is wearing off and even if he still smells like stale beer and strip clubs and cheap perfume, his mind is clear enough to know mostly what he’s doing when he orders the cab to drop him off at the Pony Bar.

The guys are in their usual corner in the back, and he waves at them quickly. It’s only Sharpy, Burs and Steegs, so it must be even later than he thought. They look surprised to see him, or perhaps it’s the fact that he’s only wearing one glove and he never did get around to buttoning up his coat. It’s not often, or ever, that they see their Captain so disheveled, but he knows that he has to do this before his buzz really and truly wears off, so he waves them away and searches the bar.

Kaner’s there, arms around two blondes, laughing as he lets them pour shots down his throat. Johnny is furious, and he’s knows it’s unreasonable but, fuck, he’s had a really long day and he only feels a little bad about being pretty rough with the girls as he pulls them off.

“What-? Tazer, what cha doin? And, Jesus, what are you wearing? You look awful.” Kaner raises an eyebrow, caught between being worried and finding the whole thing flat-out fucking hilarious.

“We need to talk.” Johnny’s voice is deep, but he’s no longer slurring, and he’s grateful for small favors.

Kane shrugs. “Okay, let me just-“

Johnny reaches over him and throws a couple of twenties on the counter, before grabbing Kaner’s wrist and dragging him outside, into the alley. Kaner didn’t have time to get his coat, and he’s rubbing his arms and hopping from one foot to the other as he glares at Johnny. “Fuck, it’s cold out here, asswad.”

Johnny looks around him, as if realizing that it is still early March and snowing and damn cold out. He slips his coat off and offers it to Patrick, who takes it gingerly. “Jesus, this smells like feet. Where ya been?”

“Strip club.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow and whistles. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Caps.”

“Fuck you.” Johnny looks down at his feet and it really is cold out, so he wraps his arms tightly around his stomach. “I had some things to work out.”

“What’s _with_ you?” Now Patrick’s looking worried and a whole hell of a lot more sober than he was inside. “You’ve been off for weeks.”

“I know, I just-“ Johnny stops, kicking at a patch of snow and wishing that he didn’t, ‘cause he hadn’t put his socks back on and the snow seeps right through his sneakers.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Best friends and all that.”

“Oh,” Johnny looks up and growls “Just shut the fuck up, all right?” And he’s lurching forward, hands grasping onto Patrick’s hips to steady himself. Their lips crash, Johnny moving desperately against him until Patrick finally groans and loosens and tilts his head so that their noses aren’t bumping. It’s still unpracticed, a lot more passion than skill, but when Johnny opens his mouth to Patrick’s tongue, Patrick explores his mouth, tongue and teeth and all.

They’re both panting, cheeks flushed as they pull away. Patrick rests their foreheads together, whispering “finally” into the chill air. Johnny tries to pull away, but Patrick wraps his arms around him so that they’re both cocooned in the warmth of Johnny’s coat.

“What do you mean, _finally_?” Johnny whispers angrily.

Patrick grins. “Nothin’. I’ve just been waitin’ for this a long time.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny growls, trying to pull away again, but Patrick laughs and pulls him closer, wrapping a hand in his t-shirt and kissing him again. When they pull apart, Johnny’s shaking his head and smiling. “Seriously, fuck you.”

“You’ve said that already.”

Johnny lets out a breath and it’s a half-choked laugh. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me? You would have saved me a lot of pain and suffering.”

Patrick’s noise wrinkles. “Is that why you smell like an ash tray? The pain and suffering?”

Johnny hits his chest, but settles on a simple, “yeah,” before pulling him in again. The snow is falling harder, and he reaches out to catch a flake on his tongue, before Patrick grins and swallows it, tongue and snowflake and all.

“So, how long’s this angst been going on?”

Johnny frowns. “Forever? I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Okay.”

“You really want this?” Johnny bites his lower lip, his emotions see-sawing so much that he feels a headache coming on.

“God, yes. You have no idea how much.” Patrick groans, slipping a hand around Johnny’s waist to rest on his lower back, slipping a couple of fingers below his waistband. He groans again, his knees going weak. “Commando?”

“Strip club.” Johnny points out, and it’s still embarrassing, but Patrick’s grinning at him, so perhaps it’s alright. Another finger slips below his waistband and he jumps as a few snowflakes join it. He pulls away, grasping Patrick’s hand and pulling him back onto the sidewalk, hailing a cab. “We need to go home.”

“You live with Seabs,” Patrick points out, and Johnny gives him a secret little smile.

“Trust me, he won’t mind.”

“What does that mean? Johnny?” He whines, but then Johnny’s tumbling into a cab with him, and their legs are tangled and he settles on licking Johnny’s ear until he’s squirming and gasping and arching his hips against air. Patrick grins, reaching down and resting his palm between Johnny’s legs, giving him something to thrust against. He licks across the shell of his ear, before whispering so that his breath blows against the wet area. “We’re almost home.” Johnny moans and thrusts and Patrick soothes him, calming him down just until they’re in the apartment and the door is closed and Patrick can push him up against it.

“Shh,” Johnny whispers, the cold as they ran from the taxi to the apartment giving him a little bit of clarity. “My room.”

“Hmm?” Patrick asks, pulling his t-shirt away from his collarbone and biting down. “You said Seabs wouldn’t mind.”

“He won’t,” Johnny gasps, Patrick’s teeth grating against his skin sending pulses directly to his cock. “But I don’t want him to find us fucking against the door either.”

Patrick groans at the language and pulls back, grabbing Johnny’s hand and twining their fingers, before pulling him down the hallway to his room. The door bangs shut behind them and they’re tumbling to the bed. Johnny rolls them over so that he’s settled between Patrick’s thighs and Patrick spreads his legs, urging Johnny up and closer as he starts to thrust.

It feels good, so good, even between layers of clothing and Johnny squirms as his cock presses against the zipper of his jeans, wondering why anyone in their right mind would ever choose to go commando. He reaches down to take care of the problem, but Patrick swats his hand out of the way, adjusting his hips so that he can reach the button on Johnny’s jeans. Johnny sighs, a long, happy sigh as his cock slips free and Patrick cradles it in his palm as if it’s precious and beautiful, not hard and purple and aching.

“I’m not, fuck, I’m really not going to last long,” he whispers. He feels so good, and jesus, he wants to make Patrick feel something, anything. He claws between them, pushing Patrick’s shirt so that it’s bunched under his armpits. It doesn’t look like an entirely comfortable position, but he doesn’t want to break contact enough to pull it all the way off, so he just shrugs and bends his head to nip at Patrick’s nipple.

Patrick’s entire body goes rigid, arching into Johnny’s mouth and whimpering as Johnny soothes him with his tongue. He does the same to the other side, until Patrick is moaning and squirming, the movement doing delicious things to Johnny’s cock as he rubs against him, leaving wet trails across his jeans. Johnny sits back on his heels, eyes glazed as he looks at Patrick’s chest, nipples red against his pale skin, flushed pink and panting heavily.

Johnny grins, dropping a hand to trail across Patrick’s sternum, before moving directly to his destination. He knows he’s really not going to last long, as he grabs hold of the zipper and urges Patrick to lift his hips just enough for Johnny to push his jeans and boxers out of the way. Johnny stares as Patrick’s cock jumps angrily, leaking a continuous stream against his belly. His balls are heavy and painful looking, and Johnny reaches down to cup them.

Patrick hisses, “fuck,” and reaches up to pull Johnny into a wet, desperate kiss, tongues dueling wet and hard. Johnny’s hand is squashed between them and it’s awkward as Patrick’s hips arch and try to set a rhythm. With an “umph,” Johnny lands on his chest, before pushing himself up and pulling his hand to settle on the bed next to Patrick’s head.

“Jesus,” Johnny whispers as he adjusts his hips and their cocks are in perfect alignment. “Fuck, so good, so good.”

Patrick looks up, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s neck and twining his fingers into the short hairs at Johnny’s neck. “God, you look amazing. I’ve been waiting, oh, waiting so long.”

Johnny’s grinning, thrusting and kissing and just grinning. “You’re quite, fuck, quite amazing yourself.”

“Jesus.” Patrick closes his eyes, hand tightening in Johnny’s hair. “I’m gonna, fuck-“ His hips arch and his whole body goes rigid as he comes in hot, long spurts against Johnny’s belly.

Looking down, Johnny groans, dropping to his elbows and thrusting desperately against the hollow of Patrick’s hip. It doesn’t take more than a couple thrusts before he’s gripping and coming, whispering nonsense that sounds something like, “fuck, Pat, god.”

Johnny catches his breath before rolling to the side and looking at Pat, laughing. Patrick turns his face, frowning. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Johnny grins. “Just, you look ridiculous.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow pointedly at Johnny, who’s sprayed out on the bed, shirt hiked up past his bellybutton, cock hanging out of his jeans. “You look pretty ridiculous yourself.”

“I know.” Johnny smiles, rolling onto his hip and urging Patrick to arch up enough for Johnny to pull his shirt off. Once that’s done, Johnny lays small, sweet kisses across his chest. “You’re so hot.”

Patrick chuckles. “You need a shower.”

Johnny leans down to smell his t-shirt and grimaces. “Yeah.” He rolls out of bed, stripping off his clothing on his way to the bathroom. At the doorway, he turns around to see Patrick, naked and stretched out on the bed, chest still covered in their come. “Stay there.”

Patrick chuckles, “As if I’d go anywhere.”

He’s asleep, by the time Johnny comes out, feeling clean and refreshed. He has a wet washcloth with him, and he cleans Patrick up before stretching out beside him and falling asleep, too.  
***  
The third time Duncan is caught in Brent’s kitchen, it isn’t planned and perhaps it’s the most embarrassing of all. He’s become so comfortable sharing the apartment with Johnny that he doesn’t even look up from the refrigerator when he hears footsteps. Not, of course, until there’s an entirely un-Johnny, and un-Brent like for that matter, scream.

Slowly, Duncan closes the refrigerator, holding up a carton of orange juice as a peace offering, and trying not to grin at what it means for Patrick to be standing there in his boxers, arms crossed protectively over his bare chest. “Orange juice?”

“What-? How-?” Patrick shakes his head, his already tousled hair bouncing even more out of place, before settle back on “What?”

Duncan can make out love bites under Patrick’s folded arms and the whole thing is really just too adorable. “Good morning.”

Patrick looks suspiciously at the clock, as if perhaps it’s lying to him. “It’s 4 in the morning?”

It’s a question and Duncan nods, pulling three glasses from the cupboard. He pours them and hands one to Patrick. “Yep. I assume you’re thirsty?” Patrick looks torn between taking the juice and exposing his chest and Duncan shakes his head. “I’ve seen you thousands of times in the locker room, Kaner. No need to be so modest now.”

Patrick still looks unsure, but he does reach out to snag the glass quickly, before pulling it in to cradle it against his chest. He clears his throat and finally seems to look closely at Duncan for the first time, taking in the boxers and the same Team Canada shirt with Seabs’ number 7 on the back. “What are you _doing_ here?”

It’s an intelligent question, and Duncan can’t help squirming under the scrutiny, even though he’s the one who should be calm here. “I could ask you the same question.”

“But, you didn’t.” Patrick says, then swallows, taking a sip of the orange juice and thinking over what he just said and drawing the only logical conclusion. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“Nah,” Duncan shrugs, “not really.”

“And you’re here. At four in the morning. In Seabs’ shirt.” Patrick takes stock of the evidence, then glances over at the couch as if willing it to give him a different conclusion than the one he _has_ to be reaching.

“And you’re here. At four in the morning. With no shirt. How’s Tazer?” Patrick’s entire body flushes and Duncan grins. The kid really is just too easy to tease.

“Sleeping,” Patrick answers quickly, before gasping and bringing his hand to his mouth. “I didn’t mean – I, I mean, I don’t know.”

Duncan raises and eyebrow. “You _don’t_ know?”

“No, I mean, he’s fine. I’m sure he’s fine. How should I know?” Duncan nods pointedly at the love nips across his chest, bare now that his hand is covering his mouth. Patrick looks down at himself. “Fuck.”

“Shh, relax.” Duncan laughs, finally taking pity on him as he curls back into himself, arms trying unsuccessfully to cover every place Johnny had marked him. “Actually, Seabs and I take credit for getting you two together.”

“Credit? What?” Patrick hops on his feet. “What is going _on_ here?” He whines, glaring at the orange juice as if it has the answers to the universe.

“You really are kinda cute at this hour.”

Patrick glowers at him, running a hand through his hair before remembering and dropping it quickly across his chest. “It’s been a long night.”

“I bet.”

“And you and Seabs? Together? I mean, together, together, as in, fucking?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Awesome.” Patrick’s suddenly grinning. “I mean, really, this is _awesome_. We can double date and, and I can be over here a lot and Seabs won’t care and I was _worried_ about that.” He suddenly stops his babbling, peering at Duncan again. “Wait, you did know about Johnny and I, right? That’s what we’ve been talking about, right?”

Duncan looks pointedly at Patrick’s bare chest and Johnny’s slightly opened door. “Yeah, I had some idea.”

“Good.” Patrick lets out a deep breathe. “Worried I had let something slip there.”

“You’re really not very awake at this hour, are you?”

“Mmm, no, not really.” Patrick scratches at the back of his neck and Duncan finally decides to take pity on him. It is their first night, after all.

“I’m gonna get back to bed. See you in the morning?”

Patrick looks confused for a moment, ‘cause it is morning _now_ , but then he gets it and he nods vigorously. “Yes, yes, definitely.”

“Good. ‘Cause if, you know, you were planning on sneaking out, I’d have to kick your ass.”

“Fuck you.”

“There’s the Pat I know.” Duncan grabs his glasses of orange juice and squeezes past Patrick, stopping momentarily to grasp Patrick’s arm. “Seriously, though, if you ever hurt him-“

Patrick stares at him for a moment, then grins and nods and Duncan groans, but takes it as enough of an affirmative for four in the morning.  
***  
“Wake up. Johnny, baby.” Patrick is on his knees on the bed, making it bounce under Johnny’s sleeping form.

Johnny turns his head on the pillow, eyes in tiny slits as he peers at Patrick. “Wha-?” His voice is slurred, but this time because he’s sleepy and still fairly sated.

Patrick crosses his arms accusingly. “You didn’t tell me.”

“’Bout what?” Johnny closes his eyes again and snuggles deeper into the pillow. It smells like Patrick and he smiles.

“’Bout Duncs and Seabs, you ass.”

“Mmm, oh, yeah.” Johnny doesn’t open his eyes. “Duncs and Seabs got us together. We should thank them later. Or get them a card.”

“A _card_? Fuck, Johnny-“

Johnny sighs and, with a great effort, raises himself on his elbows and peers at Patrick, who’s still bouncing on the bed, clad only in his boxers and skin starting to goose bump. Johnny raises the edge of the quilt. “Get in.”

Patrick frowns. “No.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? Slipped my mind. Now, get in here. You’re freezing.”

“Slipped his mind,” Patrick mutters, but he does slip under the quilt and push himself close to Johnny, rubbing his icy foot along Johnny’s calf.

“Jesus,” Johnny whispers at the cold. “Where you been, anyway?”

“Wanted a glass of water.” Patrick shrugs. “Got somethin’ else.”

“What?”

“Orange juice.” Patrick smiles. “And Duncs.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_.” Patrick shakes his head. “You could warn a guy, you know? Before he gets caught half-naked by his teammate who, as it happens, is also almost half-naked.” Patrick shudders. “More than I ever needed to see.”

“Mmm, I can make it up to you.” Johnny wraps an arm around his waist and kisses him. “Make you forget.”

Patrick starts to laugh, and he can’t stop himself as he wraps an arm around his own waist and shakes with it. He knows his reaction is a little out of proportion but, “Seriously, never talk like that again.”

“Fuck you.”

Johnny looks hurt, seriously hurt, and Patrick rolls over, resting on an elbow so that he can peer down at Johnny. “Sorry,” he whispers, still laughing a little and trying to make up for it by tracing over Johnny’s torso with his hands. He leans down, kissing his chest and licking at a nipple. “Sorry,” he whispers, his breath blowing across the wet skin.

Johnny groans, bringing a hand down to cup the back of Patrick’s neck, fingers playing with the small hairs there. Patrick shivers, grinning, and moves lower, kissing across the sharp intakes of breath and pausing to tongue-fuck his bellybutton.

“Oh, fuck,” Johnny whispers, arching into Patrick’s mouth.

Patrick chuckles, gripping Johnny and soothing him with his thumbs, rubbing short, rhythmic circles in the hollows of his hips. He keeps his thumbs moving as he shifts lower and attaches his mouth to the inside of Johnny’s left knee, kissing and suckling until the area is raw and red. He grins against Johnny’s skin as he moves upward, kissing along Johnny’s thigh and, when he reaches the cleft where thigh meets groin, he takes in a little strip of skin and sucks hard.

“Oh, gah, _fuck_ ,” Johnny screams and Patrick lifts his head, grinning.

“Shh,” Patrick chastises, motioning his head to the door.

“I don’t care ‘bout them.” Johnny whines, glaring down at Patrick. “They’re loud _all the time_.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Johnny groans in frustration, arching his hips pointedly in the direction of Patrick’s mouth. “Now, just – jesus, stop teasing.”

“Hmm.” Patrick has dropped one hand to Johnny’s thigh, rubbing up and down it absently as he looks up at Johnny, face splotched red and spit covering his bottom lip, eyes dark and dilated with arousal. Patrick shakes his head, dropping his voice. “You look beautiful like this.” He moves his hand up to press on the sliver of skin behind Johnny’s balls, impossibly smooth and tender, and Johnny bucks.

“God, just, Pat, I-“ Johnny’s laboring to catch his breath, the hand at the back of Patrick’s neck gentling to a sweet caress. “The things you do to me, Pat.”

“Haven’t done anything to you yet,” Pat smirks, rising onto his elbows and taking all of Johnny in in one stoke. Johnny bucks, keening, and Pat fights not to choke as he rises off again. Perhaps he should have practiced first, like, on a banana or something, because it’s been a long time since he’s done this, and it’s never been more than fumbling in the dark after a game won or lost in juniors, and it may have been a mistake to take Johnny all at one, but he’s never wanted someone to feel so _good_ before.

“Hey, hey,” Johnny soothes, looking down to see his cock, achingly hard and covered in Patrick’s spit, leaking as it bobs against Pat’s chin. It’s obscene and he has to fight to calm himself. “Easy.”

“Sorry,” Pat whispers, angry at himself. “Sorry, I just – fuck.” He lowers his head before Johnny can say anything else, swiping his tongue across the head and moaning as Johnny’s precome dribbles down his throat. He wants more, so much more, and he lowers slowly, taking in as much as he can until Johnny hits the back of his throat, resting there for a moment and listening to Johnny moan and sigh in pleasure above him.

“Good, _so_ good,” Johnny whispers, his hand tightening in Patrick’s hair and it should be frightening, but this is _Johnny_ and Patrick trusts him and he takes it as no more than encouragement to move. So, Patrick brings a hand up to cover the area his mouth isn’t, setting a hard, smooth rhythm.

Patrick moves his mouth, letting Johnny’s cock almost fall from his lips before lowering again. He falls into pace, his mouth tightening and he groans himself as he feels the veins pulsing under his tongue. His own erection is getting uncomfortable and he shifts, wriggling out of his boxers and pressing himself against Johnny’s calf. He lets out a huge sigh at the pressure, his mouth closing tightly around Johnny, who makes a pleasant, strangled noise.

His jaw is getting tired, but he doesn’t stop moving, _can’t_ stop moving, as Johnny’s hips are thrusting in these tiny little uncoordinated thrusts, and _jesus_ , what it does to him to know that he’s making Johnny lose control like this. He feels the hand tighten in his hair, trying to get his attention, and he raises his eyes without adjusting his rhythm.

“I’m, Pat, I’m gonna – Pat,” Johnny’s voice is desperate and Patrick lowers his mouth, sucking hard and swallowing as Johnny throws his head back, eyes closed and definitely _not_ quiet. Patrick works him through it, cleaning him with his tongue before resting his cheek in the hollow of Johnny’s hip, closing his eyes and struggling to catch his breath.

He jerks as he feels skin against his own erection, which, now that he’s reminded of it, is painful and aching. His hips jerk subconsciously and he opens his eyes to slits, looking down to see Johnny rubbing him with his foot, the arch pressing tightly against Patrick’s throbbing erection. Patrick gulps, not sure if he should be embarrassed or turned on, as he watches the strong muscles of Johnny’s calf move slowly up and down, and it doesn’t really matter what he should be thinking, ‘cause, at this moment, he’s not capable of thinking anything at all.

Nothing but how _hot_ Johnny is, everywhere, and how _close_ he is to the edge. It only takes a couple seconds, and Patrick’s whole body goes rigid as he gasps and spills himself in long, white spurts.

It takes a moment, a long moment, before he realizes that Johnny is laughing and tugging at his arms to pull him up. “You came on my foot.”

“Yeah, so?” Patrick shrugs, not sure what else he was supposed to do in the circumstance.

Johnny doesn’t say anything else, just shakes his head and kisses him, slow and hot, his tongue slipping into Patrick’s mouth. “Mmm,” Johnny rumbles, deep in his chest. “And you taste like me.”

“Yeah,” Patrick whispers. He is tired and limp and he doesn’t think he should say it, not just yet, but Patrick’s never been one to censor himself, especially when he’s warm and comfortable and in Johnny’s arms. “I love you.”

Johnny’s silent. It feels like an eternity, and Patrick has convinced himself that the better part of valor is to just get up and get dressed and leave, when Johnny rolls them over so that Patrick is laid out under him, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has before. He raises his knees, protectively, and Johnny reaches a hand down to knead his right kneecap.

“Shh, Patrick,” Johnny whispers, his serious face on. Patrick stares at him, forcing his knee to drop so that Johnny can reach the inside of his thigh, his palm warm and damp and caressing. Patrick tenses as Johnny reaches his groin, but all Johnny does is cup him gently and break out into a grin. “Jesus, Pat, I love you, too. How could I not?”

“Asshole.” Patrick grins. “You had me worried there.”

“Hmm,” Johnny smiles. “Never.” He lets Patrick go, struggling to sit up and find Patrick’s discarded boxers. Even more gently than before, he cleans them both up and gets them under the covers, spooned tightly against Patrick’s back. “’Night, love.”

“Mmm,” Patrick smiles, already half-asleep.  
***  
Duncan shifts the glasses of orange juice into one hand, balancing them precariously as he opens the door with his hip. He stops, barely keeping the juice from crashing to the floor, as he’s confronted with Brent, sitting up in bed and bent over so that all Duncan can see is his back. He’s shaking, and Duncan leaves the juice on the dresser, rushing to the bed. “Brent, babe, you okay?”

Brent looks up, grinning and Duncan flushes as he realizes that the shaking is actually from suppressed laughter. He frowns, but takes Brent’s extended hand and allows himself to be pulled to the bed. “What?” He asks, frowning deeper as Brent places a finger on his lips, shushing him.

Duncan takes the opportunity to kiss Brent’s finger, and Brent grins even wider, nodding his head towards the wall. Duncan frowns into the silence, wondering if Brent is playing some sort of strange trick on him, and then he hears it. A moan or a groan or some unintelligible noise, the voice unmistakable, and Duncan buries his head in his hands. “Voyeur,” he accuses.

Brent practically bounces on the bed as he faces Duncan, pulling his hands from his face and still grinning. “Just admiring our handiwork.”

Brent is smug and Duncan groans. “You’re insufferable.”

“It was a good plan.” Brent tries to sound hurt, but Johnny lets out another noise from the other room, and he just can’t be anything but ecstatic. “I have good plans.”

Duncan tries to stay mad at him, but Brent has always been _the one_ person who can make him laugh, no matter the situation, and he finds the grin contagious. “It was a good plan,” he agrees.

“And the kids are gonna be okay.” Duncan thinks that the _kid_ denomination is misplaced, as he watches Brent, so happy and enthusiastic and adorable, and all he can see is Brent at eight years old, sticky fingers on a peppermint stick. And all Duncan can think is _I love you_ , so he leans over and kisses him softly.

“Yeah, they’re gonna be fine."


End file.
